traversing the same route five times a week presents me a repeating view again and again and yes, again. the sight of houses, from well-made to thatched huts, occasionally interrupted by massive spaces filled with wild grasses or field of rice stalks, and once with a huge mall. the neighborhood will then be replaced with the passing silhouettes of trees lined prim and proper along the edge of the paved, wide highways. then the homes and factories and taller buildings will wave hello as if to signal the end of the highway and the beginning of the honk-filed and jam-packed city road.

with every single day passing, only the heat of the sun and the cold raindrop dripping are the signals of the Philippines’ two seasons’ ending — wet and dry. (and most of the time, like now, they seem to be fond of overlapping. like summer for the day and thunder and lightning for the evening.) as much as i wish to witness the season’s undressing from winter, spring, summer, and fall, i am only blessed by the summer sun and the sometimes gentle sometimes harsh monsoon showers.

yet still blessed, yes, for i am among the billions of soul experiencing the warmth of morning sun and the darkness of the velvet evening. to live and to be living, itself is a blessing.

the summer sun and
the monsoon rain take their turns.
my grateful heart sings.

I would like you all to write a haibun about how you are affected by season changes, if you do any special activities, what you have done in the past or have planned for the future season between seasons

i stumbled upon my five-year-old smile pasted on a fading photograph. it was just me and my sister. she was crying. i was clapping. (mean me?). my small mouth was wide open, wide enough to show the three blank, toothless-gaps. while my sister, a year younger, was red in her wailing feat.

looking at the once child me, i wonder when did my innocence fade? where did my child-like, pure bliss go? who snatched my genuine smile? is it the cruel world? or is it my own bitter words? but then the present mirror shows i may be tired, i may be sometimes sad, but i am braver. i am kinder. i am stronger. i am broken but better.

Our challenge is to write about finding beauty in the broken pieces or imperfection and/or the process of mending the broken pieces. You can write about a “broken” object, cityscape or landscape, or personal experience of mending and embracing imperfections. Please write 1 to 2 tight paragraphs of “prose”, followed by a nature-themed “haiku”.

Being that this is Haibun Monday, please write a haibun based on the prompt, ending with a seasonal haiku. Don’t forget to visit and comment on others poetry, especially to those who have visited you.

inside a cage filled with fog of fear, she stays alone trying to heal the scars of the past of all that is done, the ache of the present she cannot share with anyone, the uncertainty of the future coming with each rising sun.

will i be able to stop looking back and leave the footsteps i have made? will i regret the decisions i have made? will i be able to see a better tomorrow or all that’s left is heart’s sorrow?

as morning rays slip through the tiny cracks of her cave, she cannot help but let hope grow inside. with the leftover, brittle faith she holds on to, she’s coming out. she’s coming out.

she finally choose
to sink not in fog of fear
but in sea of faith.

—

P.S. Yes, she is me.

P.P.S. Written with a tear-stained face and with ears listening to this song:

Your love so deep is washing over meYour face is all I seek, you are my everythingJesus Christ, You are my one desireLord, hear my only cry, to know you all my life

For today’s Poetics, I ask you to look at feathers. Perhaps you will write of a bird, whether humble or glorious in its array, or maybe you will zero in on an individual feather in its detail, writing along the line of imagist poets. How about feathers as a metaphor, or the function of these structures as they serve our avian friends? You may even choose to get a bit spicy, but what would I know about that? Can you hear feathers? Smell, taste or touch them? What do they mean in certain cultural or religious traditions such as those of Native Americans? There are so many possible ways to fly with this prompt.

an imagist poem (draws the emotion from the image). Concrete images are described. It is important in haiku to deemphasize the ego. The subject, not the poet is what focuses the haiku. “One of the most common characteristics of haiku,. . . . is silence.” Bruce Ross. The words silence or stillness can be used in haiku, but it is the concrete image as described that makes the reader respond to the feeling of silence.

written in the moment. The past can be referred to as long as it doesn’t overpower the present.

one of two forms “traditional” or “modern”

traditional requires a season be named and images and emotions be drawn from of nature.

modern can be images of relationship, personality, experience, etc

often a tristich, commonly written in 3 lines. BUT, it can be written in 1 or 2 lines. (if not broken into 3 lines, the haiku should still follow the pattern of 3 units, 2 images that either conflict or expand resulting in insight.) The common break down of syllables: